


He Who Reigns in Strelsau

by elstaplador



Category: Zenda Novels - Anthony Hope
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempted rape (canonical and offscreen), Canon-Typical Violence, Community: smallfandombang, Conspiracy, Drunk Sex, F/M, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Political Intrigue, Ruritanian, swashbuckling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-31 19:43:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6485128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elstaplador/pseuds/elstaplador
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rudolf Rassendyll met a man who looked exactly like him in the forest of Zenda. That man was the King of Ruritania, and we all know what happened next. </p>
<p>But what if the Duke's men had found the King's double first?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Rude Awakening

The day was a warm one. My journey from London, via Paris and Dresden, had fatigued me more than I had imagined. The forest of Zenda was quiet, the silence broken only by the murmuring of lazy birds. The sun crept between the leaves of the trees, I had my back against a singularly comfortable tree trunk, and there were several hours before I must be in Strelsau. Small wonder if I dozed...

'The King!'

'Imbecile! A man doesn't grow a beard back overnight!'

I would have taken this curious exchange as a development of my dream, but for the sudden rude pressure in my ribs. Opening my eyes, I found that a young man of dark hair and insolent expression had placed his boot there.

I let out an angry exclamation, but, finding myself covered by a pistol, thought better of springing to my feet to avenge my pride in any physical manner.

'He's English,' said the other man, whom I deduced from his accent to be English himself.

'What's that to you? He makes a pretty present for the Duke. It will amuse him if nothing else.' And, to me, 'Stand up!'

I did not like his manner, but I had scant choice. 'I haven't the pleasure...' I ventured, as I rose to my feet.

'A thousand pardons.' Not one of them could have been sincere. 'Rupert Hentzau, at your service – though, now I come to think of it, you're rather at mine. And John Detchard, who believes that you may be a countryman of his. We serve his grace the Duke of Strelsau, and propose to take you to his presence now. If you're wise, you won't argue.'

Wisdom is not perhaps a virtue with which my friends would readily credit me – certainly it is not one with which my sister-in-law Rose would readily credit me – and at this moment I rather cursed my own lack of that particular quality. It was, for example, becoming clear that I would have been wise not to have crossed the frontier into Ruritania. None the less, I did not argue.

  
'Your name?' my captor demanded as we hurried towards the railway station. The Duke of Strelsau was, I gathered, in that city. The landlady of the inn where I had stayed last night had told me that the castle of Zenda and the estates through which we passed were his property.

'My name? Rassendyll. Rudolf Rassendyll.'

Rupert Hentzau laughed, and made an allusion to my heritage, which, while insulting, was not technically incorrect, and which I suppose I had better explain as swiftly and as delicately as possible. Hentzau was clearly familiar with the story, but my readers may not be.

In brief, then, Countess Amelia, wife of the fifth earl of Burlesdon, and my great-grandmother, was linked in popular rumour with Rudolf III of Ruritania, and the occasion of the birth of the sixth earl fell more closely than respectability would prefer it to the departure (from England) of that monarch and (from this life) of the fifth earl. And Hentzau was not the first to make the imputation that my own red hair, sharp nose, and blue eyes - indeed, my remarkable similarity to the current king of Ruritania - were a result of this royal connection.

'Strange coincidence,' he said, 'that brings you here just at the moment when the Duke has... well, you'll see.'

'Are you sure the Duke will be pleased to see him?' Detchard asked.

'If he isn't,' Hentzau said carelessly, 'he's entirely at liberty to send him packing.'

I did not much like the sound of that.

I gathered that this journey from Zenda to Strelsau had been organised in advance; indeed, they had come from the capital that same morning, and this was merely a flying visit, whose purposes I might, Hentzau said, hear later on, if I was lucky. A third man met us at the station; this, said Detchard, was the Count Albert von Lauengram, 'a sort of cousin of yours, and a king up the Duke's sleeve'.

I cannot say that Lauengram looked pleased at this, though whether it was the association with my good, but not royal, house, or Hentzau's flippant summary of his role in the game that annoyed him I can't tell. At any rate, these self-proclaimed friends of the Duke of Strelsau had enough cachet in the environs of Zenda to secure another first-class ticket at a moment's notice with no questions from the stationmaster.

We had, of course, a first-class compartment to ourselves, and as the train drew away from Zenda my captors began a conversation amongst themselves. After spending a substantial period of time on the continent, including three years at a German university, my grasp of the language is, I flatter myself, as good as a native speaker's, and I found no difficulty understanding the words they spoke. The substance of their exchange was less easy to follow.

'Gentlemen,' said Hentzau, 'don't you think that fate has dealt us an ace?'

'We've no need to play an ace,' Lauengram objected. 'We're safe enough if we only keep our opponent from playing the king.'

'And, in a few turns, play our own king,' Detchard commented with a suggestive leer.

Lauengram flushed. 'We may have been dealt a queen by then,' he said.

'Not a hope of it,' Detchard said. 'She won't have it.'

'She might,' Hentzau said, 'if his grace were only a little more persuasive – but then, she might not. But I say we should play our ace.'

Well aware that I was the ace in question, I wondered uncomfortably whether aces scored high or low in this game – and how one played them.

The men bickered in this fashion for some minutes. The original plan seemed at first to be favoured, and I thought that this ace must be discarded, probably by way of the carriage door (there was, I recalled from my Baedeker, a long viaduct just to the north of Strelsau, which we must surely be approaching). These men could hardly release me to prattle of what I had heard. My one hope, then, lay with the slippery Rupert Hentzau, who seemed to seek to spare my life for his own amusement. I did not trust him. I attempted stoicism, and rather wished that my German was not quite so good. The conversation boded no good to me.

At length, however, Hentzau seemed to sway his companions, and he turned to me.

'Well, my friend,' he said, 'you're reprieved, and I hope you're grateful.'

I did not quite trust myself to reply, but I managed a faint smile.


	2. The Scheme of the Duke of Strelsau

They covered up my red hair with a soft cap, muffled as much of my face as they could with a scarf, and had me talk loudly to Detchard in English as the two of us walked through Strelsau (the others having taken a cab to the Duke's palace to warn him of the potential change to their plans – the nature of which remained a mystery to me). There was little I could do to disguise my height, but I did my best to affect a stoop.

I had not thought that my first sight of the capital would be in such company. Detchard kept up a furious pace and stopped his prattle of some risky and, I hope, fictitious, rubber scheme from time to time to point out some notable landmark or monument. It pained me to appear such a tourist, but I saw the necessity of it. If they intended me to impersonate the King (for what else could they want of me?) it would hardly do for the King's double to be seen wandering around Strelsau like any common Ruritanian.

Thus we made our way to the residence of Michael von Elphberg, Duke of Strelsau, and own brother – or half-brother – to the King of Ruritania. The Duke himself was waiting for me, having been appraised of my imminent arrival, and himself showed me into a snug study.

I had expected to dislike the man. I had heard him praised to the hilt and damned to the eyes by the women at the inn, but their opinion could hardly count for much. Those he chose to be his closest, most faithful servants, had treated me with an insolence that still smarted. And yet there was something about him that gave me pause. His very youth was touching – I must have had three years on him, at least. His eyes, soft and dark, were the eyes not of a thug but of a visionary. His cheeks were flushed with something that was not anger.

'Welcome, friend,' he said, 'and my sincere apologies for the interruption to your holiday – and any discrepancy in my men's manners.'

'There was no discrepancy, your grace,' said I.

'No,' he agreed, eyes twinkling. 'I have no doubt they were all as uncouth as each other. Come, Detchard, don't deny it!'

'No one,' said that man, 'is so uncouth as Hentzau.'

And _that_ man did not deny _that_ – for which I afforded him some little grudging respect.

Besides the Duke himself, and the three of his companions whom I had already met, there was another man in the room. He seemed formed in much the same mould as the others; barely thirty years old, he was tall and athletic, as physically imposing as any man of influence could desire in his bodyguard, but it swiftly became apparent that his master valued him as much for his brains as for his brawn.

'This,' said the Duke, 'is Herr Krafstein. He is one of Ruritania's foremost political thinkers.'

I had encountered plenty of political thinkers – they are the crop that my brother and sister-in-law take the most pains to cultivate. From his appearance, Krafstein looked to be one of the less tedious specimens of the genus.

'Anton,' the Duke said, 'would you explain to Herr Rassendyll the situation in Ruritania. And if I ask our guest to be seated, I pray you not to take this as encouragement to prolong the lecture unduly.'

Krafstein laughed softly, and began to speak. 'Under the rule of his late majesty,' he said, 'Ruritania was making great strides forwards in all fields: in agriculture, in medicine, and in the general well-being of her citizens. Do not misunderstand me. We are yet decades behind your own country, but we were beginning to approach the standards of a civilised country. His royal highness will tell me that I speak harshly, that I exaggerate the backwardness of my people. But he will not go so far as to disagree with me.

'No doubt you are aware that the King died some few months ago. The Duke's elder brother, Rudolf, ascended to the throne; he was, at the time, what one might call an unknown quantity. He had spent most of his youth abroad. Even the most ardent of his followers would not disagree that among the populace the Duke is the better known and, for the most part, the better loved.

'So much is to be expected, and so much might be forgiven him; but it has become evident, even in these few short months since his father's death, that he has neither the character nor the capacity to rule Ruritania as she deserves. His adherents are devoted to him, but the feeling among those in the court circle is that this devotion is attached to the principle, and to the office, not to the man. Rudolf looks as an Elphberg king ought to look, but he doesn't act as an Elphberg king ought to act, nor does he show any sign of improvement. A man must sow his wild oats, they say, but it ill becomes a king to reap that harvest in his reign, let alone to continue ploughing those same furrows. Let him drink, let him eat, let him make merry, by all means, but let him meet his counsellors with a clear head, and let him meet his enemies with respect.

'Rudolf makes no effort to understand his country, either the way that she works within or her relations with the rest of Europe. Twice or thrice already we have been saved from disaster only by the intervention of the Duke – or, indeed, of Marshal Strakencz, for all that he's one of Rudolf's keenest supporters. Meanwhile, in Strelsau the Old Town and the New are at each other's throats, and in the country we see constant famine and unrest. When this is mentioned to the King, he only laughs. It is, he says, no concern of his.

'For those of us who love our country, there is one way forward. Rudolf is the nub of the problem, and the absence of Rudolf is the beginning of the solution. There are three people with as great a claim on the crown, and greater capability. It is imperative that one of them claims it, for if Rudolf remains on the throne, Ruritania is ruined.'

Krafstein fell silent. I made no reply to his speech; I was greatly perplexed. I saw the force of his argument (indeed, it well bore out what I had heard from the hostess of the inn where I had spent the previous night) but I had not come to Ruritania to involve myself in revolution.

The Duke took up the strain. 'Three people who might claim the crown, says friend Krafstein. I would call it two, for I exclude myself from the running. No matter. One would be enough, and I am sure enough of him.'

The Count von Lauengram shifted slightly. I glanced at him. I could swear that he flushed.

The Duke continued, 'Tomorrow is the coronation. The King brought the date forward on the advice of his intimates, who feared -' this with a smile – 'some move by myself. Well, I have made my move. I only wait upon the issue.'

I must have looked curious – as who would not?

'Your highness, you must not tell him,' Lauengram urged.

'Must I not? Remember, Albert, in whose gift lies...' He broke off, and said to me, 'Perhaps I ought not to tell you. And certainly if I do, I must not let you leave this house. Not before tomorrow. Perhaps not at all.'

A wise man would have taken this as his cue to leave, and let tomorrow fall out as it would. But I am not a wise man, and the sense of danger worked on me like wine. 'Perhaps you have already told me too much,' I suggested. 'Perhaps you might make the best of it and tell me all.'

He met my gaze. 'Perhaps you might be of use to us.'

That, I suppose, was the moment at which I committed myself, either to conspiracy or to death. How will history judge me? Harshly, I suspect; but I had arrived as a prisoner, and I had every expectation of leaving as a corpse. And besides, history will, I hope, never know. 'How?'

The Duke coughed. 'I told you that I had made my move. It is the tiniest, simplest move that you can imagine, a pawn pushed a mere square forward. I suppose you might call it a trap; but it is simple enough to evade. Indeed, if the King is a better man than I fear he is, the odds are that he will escape it.'

'You are a gambler?'

'Not in the least. I know my brother.'

'Then what was your move?' I asked.

'I have sent him a gift, of the sort that he loves the most. A bottle. He might refuse it, but I do not think so. If he drinks of it, he will not be at the coronation tomorrow.'

I must have started, for the Duke laughed. 'Oh, he will wake, given time. But he will not wake _in time_. Indeed, even if he were to refuse my gift, it's entirely possible that he might fail to wake.'

'He fails to wake – what then?'

The Duke smiled. 'The streets of Strelsau are thronged with people who long to see their king, and he does not appear. The Cardinal is waiting in the cathedral, and no king comes to be crowned. The army sees that it has pledged its loyalty to a king who is unworthy of it. The police enforce a curfew in Strelsau – oh, only for a few days, only until stability has been restored, only until the government is properly established. Indeed, the government will look much the same as it does now; only its head will be different. No blood will be shed, unless people are unreasonable. It is all perfectly simple.

'And now... Rupert brings me you, and you are a most extraordinary gift. See.' He picked up an illustrated paper, and leafed through it until he found a portrait of Rudolf V, and I was bound to agree that the resemblance was startling. The picture could not show me the colour of his eyes or his hair, but I was willing to believe that they matched my own blue and red. The long, sharp nose, the line of the jaw, the piercing eyes: apart from the beard (and the King had shaved his off, and I could as easily shave mine) there was nothing to mark the difference.

'So what do you do with me?' I challenged.

'That, Mr Rassendyll, is the question I ask myself.'

  
Hentzau wanted me to go to the coronation, to take the King's place and to refuse the crown on his behalf. I was profoundly uneasy with this idea (not that my opinion counted for much); I did not believe that I could maintain the illusion. Lauengram favoured, I believe, the original plan, where there was no king and no coronation. The Duke, too, knew the power that the sight of the empty throne would wield, but he agreed with Hentzau that I was a gift too good to refuse.

'So,' he said, 'we shall let the coronation go off – or, rather, fail to do so. You, my friend, will appear on the palace steps later in the day. We'll draft you a pretty speech in which you abdicate in favour of your cousin Albert' – here he bowed to Lauengram, which I found disconcerting – who will appoint me as Chancellor, and Ruritania can continue in her peaceful course.'

'And I?'

'You find a disguise better than the one in which you came here, you forget all your German, and we get you safe conduct to the border. After that, I suggest you return to England as fast as you possibly can.'

And what, I wondered, would I tell my dear sister-in-law?


	3. An Impostor in the Palace

The next several hours were spent cramming as much as was generally known of the King's likes, dislikes, mannerisms, prejudices and peculiarities into my brain. 'Of course,' Hentzau said cheerfully at one point, 'it wouldn't much matter if you _did_ slip up; but the Duke would then have to denounce you as an imposter, and the chances are you'd be shot where you stood.'

I fell to my study with renewed vigour. I could not help wishing I had a closer companion of the King to serve as my tutor. The populace would know only the King's picture: well, I had nothing to worry about when it came to looks, at least. Any deficiencies in my voice or accent could be explained by his years abroad; and _my_ year in the Queen's service had at least taught me to bear myself as if I held authority, though, heaven knows, never such authority as this! No, the illusion would be good enough until I met a nobleman who had known the King since birth, or until I was called to give the royal opinion on some dispute I had never heard of. It struck me as being somewhat ironic, not to mention inconvenient, that the real King's most bitter enemy must be the false king's closest ally – since, if the Duke of Strelsau knew his own brother, who would dare to question him, this day of all days?

I did not like the matter. A better and a braver man would, I have no doubt, have flatly refused to do it, and been dispatched to the next world with scant ceremony. But I – I found that I had been swayed despite myself by Krafstein's oration, and, besides, I wanted to see if I could do it.

  
It was late indeed when I retired and, though the bed was as comfortable as any a usurper could desire, I slept but poorly. There were many things about the morrow that must perforce be unknown, and not least among them was the question of whether I should see the end of it. I am no coward, and I hoped that I should face whatever dangers the new day brought with equanimity, but surely the man does not live who would impersonate a king without thought to it. Nevertheless, I managed a few hours of troubled rest, and I woke to the sound of all the bells in the city of Strelsau pealing in joyful clamour to greet their new king.

The Duke had, I learned, already dressed and departed for the cathedral. I breakfasted on hot coffee and a roll, finding myself without the stomach for a heavy meal. Afterwards, I dressed in my own clothes and Krafstein shaved me, for it was thought best that no servant saw me. I must admit to having preferred him as my barber to Rupert Hentzau, whom I had judged to be such a knave as I would not have near my throat with a razor.

But it was Hentzau who conducted me in an unmarked carriage through the streets of Strelsau. None paid us any attention. There ought to have been a guard at the back of the palace, but I suppose they were watching the fun at the front. At any rate, there was no one there to stop us.

There is in the palace at Strelsau a passage that leads from an unobtrusive little door to the king's bedroom. I don't speculate what use the Elphbergs made of it, nor why Rupert Hentzau knew of it. All I know is that, while all Strelsau waited for an Elphberg who did not come, a Rassendyll slipped into the palace and occupied the royal bed. Meanwhile, Rupert found me a set of the uniform that the King was expected to wear, and slipped back through the passage. Now I was on my own.

I closed the panel after him. I made sure that the bedroom door was locked, but nobody tried it. Why should they? The King was coming from Zenda. Nobody expected to find him in the palace.

I waited. An hour passed, and two. The bells ceased to ring. There must have been no end of activity in the palace kitchens, but of course no sound of that would reach the king's bedroom. I half thought that I heard a murmur in the streets, but perhaps that was only my imagination.

At length, when I saw a carriage pull up at the palace door and the Duke step down, I judged that it was safe to reveal my presence. I roared for my valet. I did not care what he thought. What business was it of his where I'd been? I damned the eyes of several notable dignitaries. Where was my brother? I would see my brother and only my brother.

The Duke arrived, and I read in his eyes a cautious relief that told me that all was, so far, well. I let him lead me to my private sitting room and dismissed all those who hung about our heels.

'Good work, sir,' he said, when the door had closed after the last of them. 'None would know.'

He looked me up and down. I made, I considered, a striking figure, and for a moment I rather regretted the fact that I donned this attire only to doff it. It would have been a fine thing to ride through the streets of Strelsau and see the sun strike my gleaming sword, to hear the cheers of the crowd, and to enjoy even for a brief moment the privileges of my royal blood. But it was already too late for that.

The Duke seemed to think that I looked rather _too_ fine; he ruffled my hair with some care, and plucked the red and yellow ribbon of the Red Rose of Ruritania slightly askew. 'There,' he said, 'though you look altogether too healthy for my liking.'

He had brought with him my speech, which dwelt upon my own shortcomings as a libertine and a drunkard, my gratitude to my brother, and the many virtues of my cousin Albert, whom I urged upon my loyal subjects as a monarch far superior to any that I might become. I then proposed to retire to my estates in the country, and leave the government of Ruritania to those who were better suited to it.

I read it through a couple of times, and, other than correcting my emphasis on a couple of words, the Duke pronounced himself satisfied.

'What,' I asked, 'is Lauengram's claim to the throne? I spoke to an old lady in Zenda who would have you king; she never mentioned him.'

'I never had any right to it,' he said; 'my father declined it on my behalf when he married my mother. No, Albert von Lauengram is descended from Henry the Lion through Hilda von Lauengram and Prince Henry. The Lion deprived the offspring of the Elphberg name, but he couldn't write them out of the line of succession. If your grandfather had been born the right side of the blanket then your claim would be the better, but you and I must be content with what heaven grants us.'

'In any case,' said I, 'my elder brother would be first in line.'

'Touché,' the Duke laughed, from which I saw that indeed he was as happy as he claimed not to be king. 'Either way, you and Albert both come behind the Princess Flavia.' He glanced away, but I caught a look of wistfulness. 'He ought to marry her.'

There were raised voices in the hall below us and, as the Duke stood with his hand on the doorknob, we could make out the sound of footsteps bounding up the stairs, and a cry of 'Your highness! Your highness!'

The Duke opened the door. 'And his majesty. Why, Albert, what's the matter?'

Lauengram had the presence of mind to close the door before exclaiming, 'That blockhead Bersonin! he's ruined the whole scheme! See!'

He was waving a telegram. The Duke took it from him and read it with profound dismay. 'Imbecile! That's the last thing we need!'

I watched the scene with deepening confusion. 'Your pardon, gentlemen,' I said at last, 'but might I ask what the trouble is?'

The Duke glowered. 'One of my men has taken it upon himself to carry Rudolf Elphberg away from his comfortable bed in my hunting lodge and install him in rather less commodious quarters at Castle Zenda.'

'Why?'

'Why? The devil alone knows. Worse: he's killed one of my brother's closest companions. We've no hope of explaining _that_ away.' He paced up and down the room, his cheeks flushed and his eyes glittering. 'Well!' he said at last, 'there's no help for it. You can't abdicate.'

'What?' I exclaimed.

'Your highness, he must!' That was Lauengram.

'No. Listen. Colonel Sapt says, the King has been abducted and the man in the palace at Strelsau is an impostor. Very well, we say, produce the King. And he can't. See: there is the King on the throne of Ruritania, not, we admit, cutting a particularly imposing figure, but in no danger. The King has a double? Ridiculous! If Black Michael had such a knave to play, why would he not play it? But if at this juncture we introduce such a dramatic development as an abdication, the populace begins to wonder if there's anything to Sapt's fairy tale.'

'How do we explain Tarlenheim?' Lauengram asked.

'Bersonin quarrelled with him – I don't know why – say he objected to the condition in which the King's party had left my hunting lodge. They're both young men of quick temper. A duel ensued. Bersonin killed Tarlenheim. He writes a confession to that effect – see to it, will you, Lauengram? – and flees to Belgium.'

Lauengram grumbled, but, unable to propose a better solution, left the room to obey this order.

'I don't mind telling you,' said I, 'I like this even less than the first plan.'

'In that, my friend,' said the Duke, 'you are by no means alone; but we must make shift with what the Almighty sees fit to grant us. I had better write you a new speech.'


	4. The Elphberg Succession

He left me a modicum of dignity. It is not easy for a king to apologise for having been too drunk to attend his own coronation, but I think that any monarch in that unhappy situation would have been grateful for Michael's words in which to do so. I have no doubt that history will record a sorry spectacle, but I did my best, and I must be thankful that only jeers met me when I stood there on the palace steps. I had expected rotten eggs, or stones.

'Well,' I said when it was over, and I had sunk into an armchair with a glass of good red wine at my right hand, 'what will you have me do next?'

'You'll need to rule Ruritania for the time being.'

'Nothing more than that?' I said bitterly.

Michael smiled. 'It need only be a month, perhaps two. I'll give you all the help I can, though you must remember that we are not on good terms. You must snub me as often as you can. We're very fortunate that most of the royal household has barely seen you since you were fourteen; all the same, I suggest that you engage a new personal staff.'

'No doubt you can suggest some suitable candidates,' I said.

'After a while,' he continued, 'you'll find the demands of kingship too much for you. You'll make some mistakes. They will not be disastrous mistakes; there will be nothing that would place Ruritania in real danger, but you'll recognise that you have been lucky, and you can't expect your luck to hold. You'll point out that you have never been crowned. You'll abdicate in favour of your cousin, Albert von Lauengram, who, you'll point out, is as much of the stock of Henry the Lion as you are.'

'As _I_ am,' I murmured.

'If we can persuade the Princess Flavia to marry him, so much the better. Then we seal both lines of descent – apart,' he said, laughing, 'from the Burlesdon one, but I fear there's not much to be done there.'

'I still don't abdicate in _your_ favour?'

'No.'

'Dare I ask, why not?'

'You may dare.' He turned his back – most improperly, had I been truly king – and thought about it a little while. 'Firstly, as I said before, there is the line of succession. My father's second marriage was morganatic; for that reason alone I could scarcely be heir. Secondly, it's exactly what brother Rudolf's supporters would be expecting. Thirdly, I would be far more use to Ruritania as Chancellor than I would be as King. And –'

'Fourthly?' I prompted him, but he smiled and shook his head.

'Aren't three reasons enough for you?'

  
Duke Michael's first addition to my staff appeared that evening: a private secretary. A nondescript little man with a bald head and pale blue eyes, his name was Schaeffer and he had been indispensable to the late King, Michael's father – our father, I mean. He was, I gathered swiftly, in possession of all the facts; indeed, I could hardly have hidden them for long. When I spoke to him I appreciated Michael's wisdom in sending him to me; gossip assigned him to no particular party, and he had been long enough around the palace that my appointment of him would raise no eyebrows, but he was, I understood quickly, as loyal to the Duke as he had been to his father. Schaeffer would accompany me at all times except where ceremony forbade it; on those occasions Michael himself could supervise me.

  
My first task as king was to put out a notice deploring both the murder of my friend Fritz von Tarlenheim and the fact that I could do nothing to avenge it, it having happened in accordance with the code of duelling. I let it be known – less formally – that I blamed Colonel Sapt for my having missed my coronation, and that I had resolved to put him aside along with my youthful excesses.

My second task was to explain myself to my cousin.

I had gathered from Michael and his companions that the Princess Flavia was twenty-one years old, extremely strong-minded, and, as things stood, heir to the throne in her own right. It was, likewise, a matter of general opinion that she was extremely beautiful. Now, a cynic may say that all princesses are held to be beautiful and, indeed, beauty is more often than not a matter of a clean face and fine diamonds. So much may be true. This was the first princess I had seen in the flesh, and the most exquisite woman. Her hair – the glorious Elphberg red – was like a living fire around her lovely face; her eyes were blue and piercing; her cheeks flushed with pique. I rather envied my unfortunate double, who might have married her had his brother not interfered, and Albert von Lauengram, who probably would.

If I was impressed by her, her feelings about me were quite the reverse. Her behaviour was of course modified by the deference due to her monarch, but she managed nonetheless to convey her displeasure.

' _That_ was a most unfortunate occurrence,' she said, when we had been through the rituals of greeting each other. It was clear that she believed that fortune had nothing to do with it.

'Cousin,' I said, 'I am extremely sorry to have disappointed you.'

'Oh!' she exclaimed, ' _my_ feelings don't matter! But your country! Yesterday, of all days!'

I felt some degree of injury on the King's behalf; it had not been his fault that he had missed the coronation, after all, but I could hardly tell the princess that.

'It's not as if it were the first time, either! Really, Rudolf, you might have thought before you...' Remembering our ranks, she broke off, biting her lip. She was reminding me more and more of my sister-in-law.

'It shan't happen again,' I said, with more certainty than I felt.

'I should hope not,' she said, and suddenly her mask of affronted dignity slipped. 'If you knew how I worry, Rudolf; the throne is so precarious, and there are those who will seize upon any slip.'

I ought to have rebuked her for her presumption, but then I would not have heard anything she had to tell me, and I could not afford to dismiss any morsel of information. 'Whom do you fear on my behalf, cousin?' I asked.

'Oh – _you_ know.'

I could guess. 'Brother Michael?'

'And his friends.'

'I'm well aware of my brother's little games, believe me,' I said.

She did not like my confidence, I could tell. 'Be careful, Rudolf; that's all I ask.'

'That at least I can promise you,' I said, and, much relieved, let her depart from my presence.


	5. The Adventures of an Unwilling Ruler

Were I to begin talking of the business of government, I fear I should stumble into a bog from which I should never escape. There was much for me to learn, much that was essential for the king to know but which would bore the casual reader, and much that would titillate the seeker after scandal but which has no relevance to the tale I have to tell here. There was, indeed, much that I did not understand, and I was forced to rely heavily upon Michael and upon Schaeffer.

Between the three of us we made a reasonable fist of running Ruritania. After those first few breathless days, when we feared exposure or denunciation every minute, we settled into an uneasy calmness. Michael was careful always to speak to me as he would his brother, and, while we were careful to maintain the illusion of a frosty truce that was melting only by infinitesimally minute degrees, he dropped not a hint that I might not be the real king. The princess had taken me at face value, which counted for much.

There must, of course, be those among Rudolf Elphberg's camp who knew the true state of affairs. Chief among them, Michael told me, would be Colonel Sapt, his brother's constant companion. 'He and Tarlenheim, whom Bersonin killed at Zenda, were ever by Rudolf's side, in all his fripperies, in all his follies. And Sapt is by far the more dangerous of the two; he's survived long enough to know how to keep doing it, and he'll be loyal to my brother as long as he lives.'

'As long as Sapt lives?'

Michael grinned. 'No – as long as my brother does. Though I fancy he'd be keen enough to avenge Rudolf's death, if it came to that.'

'It mustn't,' I said. I was prepared to personate a king in this little comedy, but I would be no party to regicide.

  
An unexpected side-effect of our combined competence was that the princess began to warm to me. She approved of my knuckling down to the responsibilities of governing a country; she remarked on more than one occasion that I seemed a changed man – a subject from which I diverted her as swiftly as possible. I cannot deny that her company was very pleasant to me, not merely for her undoubted decorative aspect, but for her knowledge of Ruritanian history and current affairs, and her instinctive understanding of the mood of her country. More than once she advised me (oh, advised so subtly that I might not have noticed, were I king and not impostor) on some question or other, and her advice was sound. More than once she approved some decision – not, of course, mine, but Michael's – and that decision was vindicated by subsequent developments.

She was, I soon discovered, more popular among my subjects than either myself or my brother (as for Albert von Lauengram, few mentioned him, and I questioned Michael's wisdom at seeking to enthrone him) and, could the crown of Ruritania be granted by popular vote, and were I a citizen, I would have supported her wholeheartedly. As it was, I came to respect her intellect to a greater and greater degree. It was a source at once of comfort and of concern: the more intimate we became, surely the more likely would she be to discover my secret.

  
The delicate scaffolding held for a month, and more. My brother was kind enough to invite me to Zenda for the boar hunting. I accepted with gracious relief; it would be far easier for him to rule the country according to his own wishes were we both in the same spot, without his having to pass everything to me through Schaeffer for my approval. I felt some little delicacy concerning my double and namesake; the true king of Ruritania was confined in the castle there. I wondered how much he knew of what passed in Strelsau, whether he fancied that his brother ruled, or Lauengram, and whether he would have believed that a red-haired Rudolf wore his rightful crown. It would, I supposed, yet be possible for him to claim his place on his throne. I fancied that Michael and I between us had gone some way towards undoing the damage that had been caused by the abortive coronation.

None of this lessened my unease when I went to see the King (I could not help thinking of him as such) in his cell. I made this visit to salve my conscience, which told me that if I must involve myself in this farce, then I must at least have the decency to face the victim of my fraud. I went dressed as a French gentleman, and I kept the light of the dim lantern behind me. There was no need to frighten him with a _Doppelgänger_ , and, while Michael was confident that he could not escape the castle, it was as well that he did not know our secret.

To complete the illusion, I was accompanied by Madame de Mauban, whom I had first seen in Paris, who had, like me, travelled to Strelsau for the coronation, and who now offered any service that might be desired to Duke Michael, to whom she was passionately devoted. She was a proud, melancholy beauty, tall and dark-haired, and the Duke's failure to reciprocate her affection for him had produced in her a kind of bitter, loyal sadness. How plausible a loving married couple the pair of us made, I don't know. I spoke little, and that in French, lest the king should recognise in my voice his own tones.

Rudolf Elphberg was listless and sullen; he refused to talk to us ('do they bring tourists to see me now?'), but appeared, to my inexpert eye, to be healthy enough and to have no reason to complain at his treatment. One thing troubled me: I could not think that his surroundings would induce continued good health. I could have crossed the room in two paces, and he was scarcely shorter than me. A feeble glimmer of daylight limped into the cell, reflected from the murky waters of the moat. If he stayed here, surely he would waste away out of sheer despair. It would be a kindness, I assured myself, to persuade Michael that his brother should be allowed to see the sky.

I urged that he be moved to more salubrious quarters. Madame de Mauban re-echoed my appeals. It was no mean feat, but at length the Duke, knowing that his plan depended on my compliance, agreed that Rudolf should have a closely-guarded walk in the forest each morning, and admitted that the great door of the room called 'Princess Osra's bower' could as well keep a prisoner in as an invading enemy out, and arranged to have bars fitted to the window that very day.

After that, I turned my attention to the boar-hunting with a clear conscience.

  
We were a remarkably merry band at dinner that evening. The success of the day's chase, coupled with the relief of the weight of pretence that pressed upon us in Strelsau, set us all drinking and laughing. Madame de Mauban had retired early to bed, complaining of a headache, and perhaps we were less restrained than we might otherwise have been as a consequence. Rupert Hentzau proposed a toast to 'the play-actor'; I replied with a toast to the King, whomsoever he might be, for I knew I was not he (I wondered whether Rudolf Elphberg could hear the merriment from his cell, and what he made of it, if so). Michael unbent so far as to toast the absent Bersonin; de Gautet raised his glass to Ruritania; Krafstein, to her people, and Lauengram roared, 'The King! The King!' which produced some little awkwardness.

The wine flowed abundantly, and I drank with the abandon of a man who has, at this precise moment, no secrets to keep. Michael drank sparingly; Krafstein, disastrously; Hentzau, extravagantly; and Lauengram became coldly and determinedly drunk.

It was past midnight when Michael announced his intention of retiring for the evening. The party broke up swiftly, after that; whether because we were too drunk or too weary or simply too disparate a crew to rub along well together without our leader's influence, I cannot tell. The subsequent events of that evening – that morning, rather – may lead the reader to his own conclusion.

I was, in any case, in no fit state to assess the camaraderie, or lack of same. I had dismissed my valet hours ago, telling him that I could perfectly well undress myself, and I was in the middle of so doing when there came a thunderous knocking on my door.

'Who's there?' I called; but I had neglected to close the door properly, and it flew open. Lauengram burst in.

'Traitor! Usurper! Play-acting foreigner!'

'My dear fellow...' I began.

'You're neither my fellow, nor dear to me!' he snarled, and pulled from his belt a wicked little dagger.

I was of course unarmed; there was a revolver in a drawer next my bed, but I could not get to it. The best I could manage was a candlestick from the dresser; well, I thought, it extended my reach somewhat, and it would give him something to think about if only I could bring it down on his skull. I held it by its throat and let the heavy silver base act as a bludgeon.

We must have made an odd sight: he, drunk and furious, waving his shining blade with (fortunately for me) more spectacle than skill; me, half-dressed fending him off with that most domestic of implements. I suppose I ought to have called for help, but pride and policy alike forbade it. True, I was an unarmed man, and there would have been no shame in it, but I did not like the idea. In any case, would it be to Michael's advantage to save a man who knew too much from the weapon of the true pretender to the throne? I would do better looking after myself.

Not that our skirmish was by any means noiseless. Lauengram continued to shriek insults at me, and the dull clash of metal upon metal must have carried through the open doorway and down the corridor. It was by no means an equal fight. Had we both been sober and had swords, I could have been his master; as it was, he had me backed into the corner between the bed and the wall within a very few minutes. Truly, I thought all was lost.

And then Rupert Hentzau strolled in. 'Lauengram!' he called. 'Lauengram, you graceless dog!'

It was enough. My opponent spun around. I raised my candlestick, but Lauengram was rushing at Hentzau, who – I could not quite see how he did it – sent the dagger crashing to the floor. Lauengram howled with pain and staggered back, blood spreading from a gash in his arm. Hentzau held a sword, I saw now, an ancient, barbaric instrument that he must have appropriated from the wall outside; and he was no mean swordsman.

Lauengram scrambled for the dagger, but Hentzau kicked it out of his reach. He laughed. 'Get out, you coward, or I'll finish you!'

Lauengram got out.

'I trust you haven't damaged him too badly,' I said, once I had recovered my breath.

'Oh,' said Rupert, 'he'll live.'

'Well,' said I, more than a little shaken, 'I'm extremely grateful for your protection.'

'It's a privilege to serve you, your majesty,' he said, with a debonair insolence that should have offended me.

'I ought to offer you some reward,' I said, 'but as you well know, the kingdom is not mine, for me to bestow half of it upon you.'

'And in the absence of a princess who'll let you give me her hand in marriage...' He took three swift steps towards me and, before I knew what he was about, kissed me ungently on the lips. 'I must ask some more trifling reward.'

He looked at me sideways to see how I would take it. I was, I suppose, more startled than affronted, and, indeed, it was not entirely unwelcome. When I did not strike him or cry out, he kissed me again, his hands gripping me about the upper arms. I was ready for him this time, and returned his attentions with a vigour that he had not expected. Let him see that I was not to be nonplussed by an unexpected embrace.

'I see your devotion to your king is remarkable,' I said, when he would let me.

'My one desire is to serve him,' Rupert retorted.

'He'll have you kneel before him, then,' I said recklessly. To this day I cannot understand why I did not send him packing, why brute desire overruled all my reason. True, he could hardly expose me without exposing himself, but I had far more to lose than he did. I can only assume that I let myself believe that my allotted span was sufficiently brief that I could reliably expect to escape any earthly consequences of succumbing to Hentzau's persuasions by the simple expedient of being hanged before my folly came to light.

He smiled – a slow, gleeful smile that set me blood pounding, stirring me at once with desire and with misgiving. 'If such be his Majesty's will.'

I was, as I have said, half-undressed already.


	6. I Know Thee Not, Old Man

When I woke the next morning, Hentzau was gone, and a low, worried, murmur seemed to possess the castle. My valet told me, as he dressed me, what the matter was: there was a _spat_ , a _scuffle_ last night; no doubt I had heard it; the Count von Lauengram had been hurt, and was clamouring to have a _crack_ at young Rupert Hentzau; he had lost a great deal of _blood_ ; the _doctor_ was worried; the Duke was _most displeased_.

'Indeed,' I said, 'as you say, I could not have missed the commotion.'

I was not sure that I could face Hentzau across the breakfast table and remain unmoved. Commanding a cup of coffee and a roll to be brought to my room, I dressed for exercise and left Michael to discipline his other unruly subordinates as best he might. (For subordinates we all were, still, no matter how little Lauengram might like it.)

Schaeffer accompanied me. I had seen a reasonable amount of the forest of Zenda, all things considered, but there was plenty more of it in which I might get lost; which would certainly be embarrassing, and possibly disastrous, depending on who found me. We did not converse overmuch; my thoughts were not such as I wished to share, even with the dependable Schaeffer.

For how long was I bound to this play-acting? (For Lauengram was correct in that estimation, at least. I was painfully aware of my imposture.) What would Michael have done had Lauengram succeeded in killing me? The latter, I was sure, had not considered that when he made his attempt; it would have been acutely embarrassing for both of them, although had the advantage from my point of view that I would have nothing further to worry about. But what if Rupert had killed Lauengram? I would have been stuck, unless Michael could be persuaded to take the throne himself, or Flavia... But how would I explain to her the necessity of my abdication, without revealing the deception? And then there was my own conduct to consider. I had been unpardonably careless. Why had I allowed myself to succumb to Rupert's attentions? I had given him a priceless hostage there. Granted, he could not speak of my lapse without implicating himself – but I did not underestimate his cunning, and I was sure that he would make something of it, if he could.

Such were my thoughts as I rode among the gloomy trees that morning. A little peasant girl, out gathering mushrooms, raised a timid cheer as I passed, and I shook my gloom away for long enough to smile at her. 'Schaeffer,' I said, 'see if you can't do anything for that child.'

I left him to bestow Rudolf Elphberg's money upon the deserving populace and rode ahead on my own. The encounter had gone some way to improve my mood, but it was not to last.

A man was standing at the side of the track. A short man, with a bristling bullet head and a fierce moustache. A man who knew me, and who expected me to know him.

'So,' he said, and the flat monosyllable was more expressive than any tirade could have been.

I stared at him, dismayed.

Schaeffer galloped up, shouting, somewhat theatrically, 'Why! Colonel Sapt! What brings you here?' but it was too late. I had failed to recognise the man, and he had seen it. I thought of Forbes-Robertson playing Prince Hal, and assumed an expression of frosty hauteur. 'I thought I had made my wishes clear,' I said, but he was by no means convinced.

'My deepest apologies – _your majesty_ ,' he sneered. 'I did not think the sight of me could offend you so.' There was the slightest stress on the 'you' that told me that my efforts had been in vain. Without waiting to be dismissed, he turned on his heel and strode off into the forest.

'Damnation!' I swore.

'It's my fault, your majesty,' said Schaeffer. 'I ought to have shown you his photograph.'

'I doubt he'd have been fooled for much longer than he was,' I said.

  
I was shaken. So, when we told him, was Michael. Up until now no one had pierced my disguise; now our secret was known. The worst of it was, there was very little that we could do about it. Michael talked vaguely of sending Detchard to find and kill Sapt before he could spread the news, or of making some decisive move in the plot to secure the throne. But here, too, there was not much that could be done.

For Rupert had been too optimistic. The sword being antique, and not altogether clean, Lauengram contracted blood poisoning. His wound festered and stank. A doctor was summoned from Strelsau, and could do nothing. Michael divided his time between his figurehead's bedside and the forest, where he walked cursing fate and his troublesome dependants. I imitated him – in the latter pursuit, at least. I did not think that the sight of me could soothe the patient's mind.

Often I felt Rupert Hentzau's eyes upon me as I went about the castle, and as often as I was aware of his gaze I felt a thrill of pleasure and of fear. I could not seek him out, but nor could I let go of the idea that he might come to me once again. And yet I knew I courted disaster... At last, able to bear it no longer, I told Michael that I was returning to Strelsau.

He admitted that it was not such an ill idea. My extended absence from the capital must cause unfavourable comment, and, he trusted, Schaeffer and I could make shift between ourselves to keep matters on an even keel until such time as he might return. 'Which,' he said, 'I fear won't be long. Don't do anything stupid, will you? I may need you for longer than anticipated.'

This was my worry. Choosing not to remark that I had already worked for him for a duration several thousand per cent longer than we had originally agreed would be the case, I departed.


	7. Truth Will Out

There was much to occupy me in the capital. My first move was to instruct the Prefect of Police to keep a close watch on Colonel Sapt and report any unusual or seditious activity. I then turned my attention to the various affairs of state that had developed in my absence and that required my attention.

I was interrupted after a couple of hours. The Princess Flavia desired to speak to me.

'By all means,' I said, well pleased, and had her shown in.

She stood tall and proud in the doorway, her face pale and her eyes cold.

'Cousin,' I said, 'what brings you here?'

'I wish to speak to you. That is, I wish to speak to you alone,' she said, with a meaningful glance at Schaeffer. He raised his eyebrows at me; I nodded. Flavia and I knew each other well enough by now, I reasoned. He bowed and left. I sat, and indicated that she should do the same.

Any surviving flicker of hope, that she had come for some pleasant purpose, died when she said, 'Helga von Strofzin tells me a strange story.'

'Oh?' I said, attempting to convey the impression that I was casually interested, rather than that I had never heard of Helga von Strofzin.

'She is – as you ought to know – one of the most loyal of my ladies-in-waiting. She was – as you ought to know – as good as betrothed to your late companion Count Fritz von Tarlenheim.'

And, in that repeated _you ought to know_ , I knew that she had found out the secret. All the same, I attempted to maintain my composure. 'What of her?'

'She has been most distressed by your apparent coldness after the death of the Count. She knows that you counted him among your closest friends. She has been talking to your closest surviving friend.'

This, at least, was an answer I knew. 'Colonel Sapt.'

She nodded angrily. 'And Colonel Sapt tells her a strange story. Colonel Sapt tells Helga von Strofzin that the King cut him dead. Colonel Sapt tells Helga von Strofzin that the King did not know him. Colonel Sapt tells Helga von Strofzin that the King did not even recognise him. In short –'

'Go on,' I said.

'In short, Colonel Sapt tells Helga von Strofzin that the King is not the King.'

I sighed. 'Very well. It's true; it's useless to deny it.'

The confession only seemed to make her angrier. 'Who are you, then? Your true name?'

'Is at least Rudolf. Rudolf Rassendyll. If you don't know the story, I oughtn't repeat it to you; it's too delicate for ladies' ears.'

She blushed. Even at that moment I could not help finding it charming. 'I have heard the story. That explains the physical likeness, then. All the same – I would not have known.' It cost her something to admit it, I could tell.

'I'm very grateful,' I said.

'And the King?' she demanded.

'A guest of Duke Michael at Castle Zenda.'

She frowned. 'Is he treated well?'

'I insisted on that,' I said. 'He has a comfortable set of rooms, eats as well as the Duke – better, in fact, for have you seen how little Michael eats? – and walks every day in the forest in the company of a...' I could not think of a euphemism; the word I meant was of course 'guard'.

'I see.' She surveyed me with a grudging respect. 'Why do you do it?'

I confessed, 'At first, because Rupert Hentzau held a gun to my head. Then, to see if I could. Now, because... because I am loath to leave what I have come to know.' My eyes must have told her what I meant by that.

It carried little weight. She glowered at me. 'And what of Ruritania?'

'I have done my best for Ruritania,' I said, 'and if you knew how I might do better, I would that you had told me!'

She bit her lip. 'You mean that?'

'Why not? I don't doubt that you know better than I do what is best for your own land; and _mine_ is one that is well used to the idea of a queen regnant.' At that moment I was half inclined to offer to cut the Gordian knot by abdicating in her favour, but something told me that she would think I tried to bribe her.

'Hum,' she said. 'And yet you don't do your own will, but Michael's.' The quick flush of anger was rising again in her cheeks. 'Tell me – thinks he still of marriage? Or would he have me marry you?'

'Neither of us, your highness,' I said, thinking of the wretched Lauengram.

'I can't believe that,' she said, and, as if reminded by the style that I held no sway over her, departed my presence without ceremony.

  
Worse news followed. Lauengram had died. Michael, having nothing now to keep him at Zenda, returned to Strelsau and business, leaving Detchard and Krafstein to guard the prisoner. I lost no time in appraising the Duke of the unhappy fact that the Princess knew of my identity, and thought the less of both of us for it.

'Well, what do you expect? She's Elphberg to the core; she's too proud to like being fooled.' Michael said this with a grudging admiration.

'Particularly by you,' I acknowledged.

He laughed. 'Ah, my dear brother, I was about to say, particularly by _you_.'

'What do you mean by that?'

'Come, now; you must have heard. Half of Strelsau claims that she's in love with you.'

'Half of Strelsau is infernally sentimental,' I growled, not ill pleased by this revelation, though I would rather have known it a week ago. 'Well, there's no helping it now. What are we going to do?'

'Wait and see.' He broke off to cough. 'The longer we wait, the safer we are. If the princess is going to reveal your identity, she must do so swiftly. If it becomes known that she was party to the deception for more than, let's see, about a week, and did not act upon it, she's as much in the soup as the rest of us.'

  
We waited. A day passed, and two. If the effort of maintaining the illusion had been oppressive before, it was twenty times worse now, when I knew that a word from my fair cousin would bring all crashing down about me.

And she said nothing. A third day passed, a fourth, a fifth, and still she was silent. None would have known there was anything amiss. Oh, she was cool to me in private, but any Ruritanian would have told you that, so far as he could see, we were on as good terms as ever. Perhaps she thought it was already too late, that none would believe her did she claim that she had not known that I was not the king until her lady-in-waiting pointed it out. I had no way of knowing.


	8. The Duke's Secret

Had Michael been aware of the nature of the relations between myself and Rupert Hentzau, he would no doubt have kept the latter in Zenda to guard Rudolf Elphberg. It was perhaps as well for the erstwhile king that he had not done so. Hentzau had a cruel streak to him that repulsed me as much as it thrilled me, and none but the two of us knew that I was in his power. What he would have done to one who was so entirely at his mercy as the prisoner of Zenda I shuddered to think. All the same, I would not send him from me, and I sought refuge from the Princess' displeasure and my own fears for the future in his ungentle embraces.

A number of scurrilous, but not entirely inaccurate, pamphlets were circulated. They claimed variously that the King was dead, that the King was in Argentina, that the King was imprisoned, that the King was tortured, but that at any rate I was not he. The printers were arrested without delay. I urged mercy, which annoyed Schaeffer, amused Michael, and I believe went some way towards placating Flavia.

Rupert, meanwhile, took matters into his own hands and ended up in an unseemly brawl with Sapt, which did no serious harm to either of their persons, but gave some weight to the rumours that were flying around. I had them both locked up for a night to cool their heads, but Strelsau was full of witnesses who had seen Rupert start it, so I could not reasonably detain Sapt for longer than I did my own companion.

  
Michael returned to Zenda, taking Rupert with him. 'To keep him out of mischief,' he told me before he left. 'If such a thing be possible. Albert was right, God rest his soul,' he said. 'I ought to have packed you straight home to England.'

I frowned. 'I flatter myself I've done a passable job under trying circumstances.'

' _You_ have, yes.' He laughed bitterly. 'No, it was my own fault, for giving in to the temptation to embroider a plan that was already perfectly serviceable. Every day we find ourselves having to improvise a solution to some new complication.'

'Hentzau might at least have finished Sapt off. I can't think what's wrong with him.'

'He underrated Sapt; which is of a piece with his confounded arrogance.' Michael groaned. 'The man's a liability. I can't dismiss him; he knows too much.'

'Entirely too much,' I said, with feeling.

Michael glanced at me suspiciously but did not enquire what I meant by that, for which I was devoutly thankful. 'I shall have to smooth things over.'

'And after you've smoothed it over?'

He raised his eyebrows at me. 'What do you mean?'

'Hang it all, you can't expect me to keep this up indefinitely! Why won't you be king yourself?'

'Rassendyll,' he said softly, 'I am a dead man. I can last perhaps a year, not more.' He turned his face from me to cough. 'If I were king of Ruritania, I would not be king long.'

'Hence Lauengram,' I said, understanding at last.

'Yes, confound it! Confound Hentzau, rather! Albert would not have made a particularly notable king, but with Krafstein watching over him he wouldn't have gone too far wrong; he'd have made a better fist of it than Rudolf Elphberg. Hence, too – I see you're too delicate to ask – a marriage between myself and the princess, if it came down to me.'

'I think she would have done it, for Ruritania,' I said.

'Don't tell me that,' he groaned. 'It's true, Rassendyll, I am in love with her. I thought, once, that because what I most desired matched with a solution for Ruritania, that it was right. But she's never loved me and she never will, and I wouldn't have her sacrifice herself to duty.'

'Then she'll be queen on her own merit,' I said. I glared at him, daring him to argue with me. 'And the sooner she becomes queen, the better.'

He sighed. 'What do you propose?'

I had not come up with a detailed stratagem; my mind was still reeling at Michael's news. But I said, 'I'll go to her tomorrow. I shall tell her that I can't in good conscience continue as king. I shall tell her that the crown is hers as soon as she sees fit to announce the coronation.'

  
'Impossible,' said the princess.

'You decline?' I was surprised. True, I had received no particular intimation that she longed to rule, but I had thought that her love for her country and her natural sense of duty would have moved her to accept my offer. 'Knowing that I am an impostor, you decline?' I shuddered: could it be possible that she would insist on restoring Rudolf Elphberg to the throne he had never sat upon? And what would be my fate, if so? If I were hanged, it were only justice. 'You would have me replaced by my original?'

'No,' she said, gravely. 'No, I do not think that would work. Perhaps when I first found out, I might have insisted. It is too late now. There is no story that we could tell that would explain it, and the truth would ruin us all, and Ruritania with us.'

'So...?'

'Cousin,' she said, smiling, and her smile melted my heart, 'have you thought what Ruritania will make of your grand gesture? So far as anyone knows, you are a competent and worthy king. You have no reason to abdicate. You can't reveal your true identity without implicating me, and how do you think my people would greet me did they but know?'

'I hadn't thought of that,' I said, dismayed. I wondered if Michael had. 'What would you have me do, then?'

'Marry me.'

I was stunned. Of all the answers she could have given me, I would never have dared to dream that it might be this one. 'Don't jest, your majesty,' I begged.

'I don't. Nor ought you to do so.' And indeed, she seemed perfectly serious. Her eyes glowed; her face was set in a thrilling sternness. 'Discount the man at Zenda, and I am the last of the Elphbergs. If I am to be queen, then I must marry, and why not you?'

'Because...' The idea was unthinkable: a wretch such as I, marry the heir to the throne of Ruritania?

'Because in your other life I far outrank you; yes. But you have long since ceased to belong to that other life. The people of Ruritania would have us married; and I,' her eyes twinkled; 'I am inclined to agree with them.'

'You honour me.'

'I know,' she said. 'Do you accept?'

'I am yours to command.' It was no more than the truth. 'Would it...' I ventured, 'would it be any more than necessity? I would not have you marry me unwillingly, any more than... any more than I'd have you marry Michael unwillingly.'

'My dear Rudolf,' she said, and there was a tenderness to her tone that told me she used my name, not my counterpart's, 'you must believe me: I would not have asked were I not willing – and more.' She gave a wry little smile. 'I suppose you'll have to run back to Zenda and tell Michael, now?'

'Flavia,' I said, 'you know, don't you, that Michael's dying?'

'Oh,' she said softly. 'No, I didn't. That explains... rather a lot.'

  
Michael had already left Strelsau. Rather than summon him back to the noise and foul air of the city, I followed him. Now that I knew how ill he was, a thousand tiny clues forced themselves upon my notice: his cough, his feverish colour, his anxiety to order matters as best he could. I went to see him as soon as I arrived at Zenda. Madame de Mauban met me at the door. 'Don't tire him,' she murmured. 'Your majesty, he's not well at all.'

It was true. Even so short a space as thirty-six hours had produced in him visible signs of decline. I spoke to him of the princess' proposition – her proposal, indeed.

He laughed. I could see that it was painful. 'I never thought of that; but it's the best solution we could hope for. You accepted her?'

'God forgive me for a presuming rogue, I did!' I still found it difficult to believe any of it.

'It's the only thing you could have done,' he said. 'I dare say it hurts your pride. I'm afraid I shall have to ask you to sacrifice that as your due for your visit to Ruritania.'

'What about –' I nodded in the direction of the castle.

'My brother. I hadn't forgotten about him. That, I fear, may well be for you and the princess to decide, but, given time, I will get him out of Ruritania. One way or another.' He sighed. 'It's odd: the closer I come to death myself, the more reluctant I am to send another man ahead of me. Nevertheless, the grave would be the safest place for him. Failing that, South America. I don't believe he's clever enough to find the way back.'


	9. Death Comes To Zenda

We were a subdued party at Castle Zenda. Michael was tired, and I racked by doubts, and Madame de Mauban could not altogether hide her sadness. Krafstein, I believe, saw that something had happened that touched nearly upon his beloved country, yet forbore to inquire what that might be, his reticence a silent reproach to us. Detchard and de Gautet, too, were quiet, for they were loyal to their leader and troubled by his obvious ill-health. Only Rupert Hentzau laughed, puncturing our sombre mood with jests and sneers. Detchard occasionally replied in kind; but I could swear that any of the rest of us would gladly have struck the rogue, if we had thought that it might give us some peace. We retired early.

I was awakened that night by a dreadful scream.

'Help! Help!'

At first I thought it a bad dream, induced by my unquiet conscience and the knowledge that the rightful king lay prisoner a scant hundred yards from me, across the moat in the old castle. Then I heard it again. 'Help me! For God's sake, help me!'

I leapt from my bed and, snatching the revolver from the table, dashed through the dark corridors of the château, following those dreadful cries.

And then – a shot. I redoubled my efforts. Ahead of me I could hear laboured, painful footsteps. I was nearly at Madame de Mauban's door by the time I found Michael, who was white to the lips and breathing heavily.

I pushed him aside and put my shoulder to the door. It burst open with my first effort, and I groaned with horror at the scene within. Madame de Mauban stood next her bed, supporting herself with one hand on the bedpost, and with a gun in the other.

And at her feet lay Rupert of Hentzau, who would trouble none of us any more.

  
Madame de Mauban was the first to speak. 'Your grace, I am extremely sorry for any inconvenience this may cause you. But a woman must defend herself.' Her face was white, and the hand that held the gun was shaking slightly.

'I am sorry,' Michael said with equal stoicism, 'that you should have been insulted under my roof. I am glad that you were able to deal with matters.'

'Perhaps some brandy...?' I suggested. I thought they both needed it. Indeed, I was hardly unshaken myself. Rupert's death was a stroke of luck for me, I could not deny, but the sight of his broken body, warm as it still was, moved me to no little distress. Had he knocked upon my door, I thought, and not upon Madame de Mauban's, he would be breathing yet; but then he had always been one for living dangerously.

Her nightgown was stained with gore. She must have had to fire the gun from a sickeningly close range. Rupert's body, too, bore witness to that. No man could have sustained such a wound and lived long.

  
Detchard and Krafstein got the bloodied body out of Madame de Mauban's bedroom, and Michael offered to have another room made up for her, but she declined, choosing instead to sit downstairs in the library. I could not blame her. Indeed, I do not believe anyone slept much after that. For myself, I put on boots and a heavy coat, and walked up and down on the terrace until it grew light. When I tired of walking, I had my horse harnessed, and went out riding deep into the forest.

I had much to think upon. The princess's offer (how much had that hurt her pride, let alone mine?) and whether I had been right to accept it. Whether the peace of Ruritania might ever be a sufficient price to pay for my shattered honour. What must be done with the king whose throne I had usurped. Whatever I did now, my conscience would never be clear again. Reason and honour alike told me that I sinned in taking another man's crown, and must I be rewarded with a royal bride? And yet she was right: if I left Ruritania now, I would doom the country to unrest and infighting that might last for another generation. Flavia believed that she needed me if she were to rule, and I knew enough to trust her judgement. It would be cowardly to flee this tangle that I had engineered. I had gone wrong, I upbraided myself, long ago, at the moment when I agreed to take part in Michael's wild scheme. Would that I had never crossed the border! Ruritania had never boded any good for any Rassendyll.

With no satisfying answer to any of it, I turned around and rode back towards the castle. I was perhaps five minutes' ride away when I heard a clamour.

  
Two shots, fired so close together they were scarcely distinguishable; a third; a cry of horror. Deeply disquieted, I spurred my horse onwards. A moment, and I was in the little clearing where Rudolf Elphberg was wont to take his exercise under the supervision of one of Michael's bodyguard.

Detchard was there, and de Gautet. And between them they held the furious, struggling figure of Colonel Sapt.

There on the grass lay two bodies. One, a tall young man, I knew for one of Sapt's lieutenants. His name I did not know. It mattered not: I knew enough. He had died in what he believed to be the service of his king – but all in vain.

For the other dead man was Rudolf Elphberg.

I saw at once what must have happened. Sapt, seeing a flash of red hair, and hearing an English accent, had taken his true king for me, and killed him.

Now he saw me, and would have flung himself upon me in his rage; but Detchard and de Gautet restrained him. As I watched, he seemed to sag, as if he recognised that all was lost. Indeed, I think that perhaps he would have preferred his accomplice's fate; to lie dead at the enemy's hands, and never to know that he had fired upon the man that he called his rightful monarch.

  
When Sapt had been taken away, I myself knelt by the body and begged – I know not what. Forgiveness, perhaps, or blessing. And, although I shuddered at the thought, I turned my gaze upon the poor shattered head. It might have been the face of Rudolf V of Ruritania. But it might equally have been the face of an obscure English gentleman. There was not enough of it left to tell.

  
I returned to Strelsau alone, and told Flavia of all that had passed. I urged her once more to take the crown from me; I reminded her that I was an ill-born knave and a vile impostor, that the death of the true king must at least partly be blamed upon my presence at Zenda. Her expression was grave as she listened to all that I had to say, and graver still when I fell silent, but she smiled as she pronounced my sentence:

'You have injured Ruritania; therefore you must serve Ruritania. You have deceived me; therefore you must be true to me. You have impersonated the King; therefore you must become the King.'

'You are merciful to me, my queen,' said I. 'Surely I deserve to be hanged for high treason.'

She laughed. 'Merciful? I? Perhaps. But I have only commuted your sentence to life.'

Truly it is the lightest punishment a rogue such as I has ever served.

  
And so I have been king of Ruritania from that day to this. Unworthy as I am, I am guided in all things by the wisest and best sovereign lady that Europe has ever known, and in my marriage I am crowned twice. With her at my side, I am bold to hope that I will guide our land in peace into the twentieth century, and our children – two sons and a daughter – are as reckless red-headed Elphbergs as our people could desire.

As for those who know my secret – well, Krafstein and Schaeffer I count among my most trusted advisers. De Gautet, too, remains in my service, but Detchard has gone to Argentina, and what he does there I neither know nor (except in dark moments when I fear exposure) care. Helga von Strofzin never entirely forgave me, but she tolerated me for Flavia's sake and for Ruritania's. ('Which,' says my wife, 'proves that the loyalty of woman to woman is as great of that of man to man.')

Michael, shaken badly by the deaths of his lieutenant and his brother, never recovered, and died at last in Antoinette de Mauban's arms. I was glad that she, loving in vain, could do at least this last service to the one who could never love her.

  
What will history say of Rudolf V? To every Ruritanian schoolboy he will be the king who was too drunk to attend his own coronation – which, I would protest, is not entirely fair to either of us who bore that title, but no matter. It is too good a story to die, and I am resigned to my fate. In the meantime, I endeavour to bear my unmerited rank and title in a manner that befits them. I tell myself sometimes that one day, when I am very old and close to death, I will invite my brother to the court of Ruritania, and I will speak to him in private and tell him the true story, but in my heart I know that this cannot be. It would be too cruel.

For in the Burlesdon vault a man lies buried, and the inscription on his monument reads _Rudolf Rassendyll_.


End file.
